


Open wounds

by errantknightess



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Angst, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Worry, Wound Tending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 10:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3352712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantknightess/pseuds/errantknightess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s nothing. It will be over soon. It will heal in time. Everything, all these wars, all this pain, it will all sink into the past, like blood into the ground, like ink into paper. Bookmen deal with scars, not with open wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open wounds

The moon was blinding, its relentless shine pouring through the window and searing white circles into his eyes. Allen clenched his eyelids. Pain was dulling his senses and blacking out his mind; still, it wouldn’t let him drift away – not even into hazed unconsciousness, let alone healthy sleep that he needed so much.

He floated in and out of half-dream, constantly toppling over blurred borders between waking moments and numbness, never knowing how much time passed from one to another. His head felt heavy against the pillow. Allen carefully curled his legs up, trying to ignore the prickling sensation taking over the arm trapped between the bed and his body. His wound wouldn’t let him settle comfortably. The akuma had ripped out a good chunk of flesh from his left side and slashed his back open, and now it took him a lot of effort to find a position that didn’t set his entire body aflame. So he tried to lie still, breathing in long, slow, controlled gasps that burned his throat with the bitter smell of the medicine soaking his bandages. Lavi swore up and down that this ointment will prevent infection and make the wound heal quicker, but the stink was so bad it made Allen gag and that didn’t help him feel any better.

He turned his head, pressing his face into the pillow to drown the smell out. That was even worse. His neck strained, he breathed his own breaths back in, the damp pillow heated up from the touch and burning against his cheek. Allen gritted his teeth and returned to the previous position, back into the stench and the moonlight. He drawn his knees closer to his chest and suddenly the bright disc outside the window exploded in a blazing flash under his eyelids; his back arched as pain hit him like a crashing wave, tumbled over him in a disorienting whirl and left him breathless. His limbs slumped, his whole body relaxed to the point of inertness, and only then did Allen realize how tense he had been. He gave in, trying to steady his breath, his eyes open and fixed ahead but not seeing. His back was wet. The moonlight still burned. The arm he was laying on now burned as well, and Allen wondered briefly how it could hurt so bad if he couldn’t _feel_ it at the same time.

The spasm had shaken him awake and cleared his head a little, and though the pain still simmered under his skin all over the body, it no longer felt like the thick, smothering fog from before. On the downside, the discomfort he had been too dazed to mind was now starting to bother him like a splinter under the nail: the light in his eyes, the numbing limbs, the clammy pillow clinging to his face. Allen decided to take the risk and change his position again. He straightened his legs and carefully rolled over to his stomach. Bad idea. A short, shocked scream escaped his mouth, sinking instantly into the pillow. Allen hoisted himself on trembling elbows and turned back on his side, defeated. He shot a quick glance across the room, worried that his cry might have waked the others, but the room remained still and silent. Allen slipped his hand under the pillow and lay with his eyes open, waiting for the fatigue and tension to finally knock him out. Sweat trickled down across his chest and shoulder blades, soaking into the bed sheet underneath, thick and warm and dark--

Allen’s head jerked up when he realized what he was seeing. He looked down at his side. Blood was coming out from beneath the bandages, seeping through them, tracing broad red lines like claw marks on his skin. Soon it was all red, deep red, almost black in the moonlight, the bed sheet drenched and sticking to his body. Allen felt his heart race, a rush of panic sweeping over his head. He pressed his hand to his side, hard, sending a torrent of pain through his abdomen. No use. The blood leaked through his fingers, hot and persistent. He had to do something. He had to do something quick. Change the bandages. Stop the bleeding. Stop this pain. Thoughts flickered through his mind, torn up and scattered, so fast he could barely register them.

By now, he knew better than to make any more sudden movements, though. Slowly, he heaved himself up, gasping and choking down a cry. He set one foot on the floor. Then the other, after a moment of agonizing effort that tore at his body and almost made him want to give up. But he didn’t. He stood up, his moves long and stiff like in a rusted machinery. His knees immediately gave way under him, but he managed to stay upright, if a little shaky. Still clutching at his side, Allen wobbled across the room, past the bunk bed where Lavi and Krory were both fast asleep, by the sound of it, and up to the door. He leaned heavily on the handle, lunging forward as the door opened. The hinges creaked in a high-pitched tone that made his skin crawl. Allen staggered, let go of the door and crashed into the opposite wall. Hands slipping on the wooden paneling, he found his balance and started to inch his way down the narrow corridor.

They were lucky this time. The owner of the inn where they were staying was a supporter of the Order, and she had a separate room arranged for all kinds of medical emergency that exorcists and finders could be faced with after a mission. Allen hazily recalled Krory carrying him there earlier that day-- the cramped space, sharp smell of blood and worried voices. He stopped, gasping for air. The corridor ended in a glass-paned door leading onto a small balcony; one of the door wings was propped open, letting in the night wind. Allen shuddered in the chill. He was shaking all over. The hand holding onto his side went rigid, pale under the blood. He tore himself from the wall and moved slowly to the last door on the right, silently praying that he remembered correctly.

The door opened with ease. Allen stumbled into the room, immediately grasping for support at the low table taking up most of the space. The air was heavy with fumes of medicine and alcohol, making him lightheaded. A box of bandages was sitting on the counter, conveniently right in front of his face. That should do for now. He straightened himself a little, still leaning on the table, and started pulling at the red-soaked fabric around his stomach. He tore at it blindly, trying to rip it off, but only managed to loosen it a bit. Blood gushed out freely. Panicked, Allen yanked the bandages harder.

The pain almost knocked him over. His side burned as if doused in acid. The room started spinning. Allen clutched his hands on the counter. The floor swayed under his feet. A tight knot clenched in his chest. His lungs were on fire. Slowly, carefully, Allen sank to his knees, his eyes closed, head tucked in, arms tight around his stomach. He crawled to the door, out of the stuffy room and back into the corridor. The balcony door rattled slightly against the wall as he pressed his forehead to the glass, catching short, greedy gulps of the fresh air, so cold it stung in his throat. His hands felt like stone against the half-exposed wound. The world was still swinging around him, now tilting heavily to the side, until Allen collided with something hard and everything finally stopped.

***

Lavi wasn’t sure what waked him up. Maybe it was Krory’s thunderous snoring, maybe the needles of numbness crawling up his injured leg. Maybe something else entirely. He lay still for a moment, wobbling on the line between dream and reality, trying to slip back into slumber, until a vague sense of unfamiliarity wriggled its way into his foggy consciousness. His mind sprang into action on reflex, immediately setting up bridges between scattered shards of information, recalling all the vital wheres and whys and piecing together shreds of images that flashed by in his memory as his brain tried to remind him of everything that happened, all at once.

Lavi realized it too late. He clawed desperately at the traces of drowsiness that still clouded over his thoughts, but the more he fought to get back to sleep, the more his brain stirred awake. And then, Krory snored again and Lavi was torn out of slumber for good, his mind cleared sharp and brimming with a wild chase of memories from the past twenty four hours. The lingering confusion was gone, replaced with an itching awareness of the situation. They were out on a mission. They got attacked. They fought. They lost. True, it wasn’t much of a loss – they escaped with their lives, and in the end that’s what mattered, but the retreat still reeked of failure and fear and their blood, mingled together as Krory was doing his best to haul them back down here. Lavi’s eye shot up, as if he could look at his companion through the planks separating them. He wondered how much time it will take them to heal enough to continue. His leg wasn’t in all that bad of a shape, after all. It could have been a lot worse if Allen’s eye hadn’t reacted in time. It would have been a lot better, though, if Allen hadn’t then rushed blindly ahead like he always did and hadn’t taken that blow to the back. Lavi looked across the room, his eye unwittingly following his thoughts. The moonlight streamed through the window straight onto Allen’s bed. It was empty.

Lavi felt a sudden pinch in his gut. _Don’t be ridiculous_ , his mind snapped a split second later. _He probably went to the bathroom. Relax._

He shot a hesitant glance at the blanket tangled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, but didn’t move. He lay on his back, one arm across his forehead, his eye wide open, counting as seconds turned into minutes. Krory’s snoring drilled into his ears. Lavi gritted his teeth and wrapped the pillow over his ears. He was _really_ glad that at least one of them was having the good night’s sleep they all deserved, but _damn_ , did he really have to be so loud?

Minutes passed. Allen still wasn’t coming back. At the back of Lavi’s mind, pictures from the day before careened in an endless parade as he was still trying to reason with himself and push away the stupid concern creeping over him.

_I’m sure it’s nothing_. An akuma tearing out of its disguise, lurching at him before he managed to reach for his hammer. _Everything’s all right_. His friends’ shouts above his head as he scrambled to get back to them after falling down the slope, his ankle twisted, his thigh pierced almost clear through. _He’s fine_. Allen’s lifeless body spread out on the ground in a growing puddle of blood, and _if I had only been there, if I got there faster_ …

Another violent snore ripped the silence, deep, almost comical. Lavi untangled his healthy leg from the blanket and rammed his heel into the underside of the top bunk. His foot hit the hard wood with a thud that reverberated through his bones all the way up to his knee. He sat up, almost knocking his head, tossed the blanket away and heaved himself up. His leg protested sharply. The moonlit room felt cold, and as he looked around, Lavi found himself trembling like in a fever. Even all the way from where he was standing, he could see the dark stain on Allen’s bed sheet. He turned to the door. One glance was enough to send him plunging forward as fast as his injuries would let him. Something was _definitely_ wrong, the open door and all this blood screamed into his eye, and Lavi could no longer pretend he didn’t listen.

He shot out of the room, ignoring the surging pain biting all along his leg like a rabid dog. In front of him, the wall was marked with a morbid pattern, darkening handprints on the light wood. His eye followed the way they were smeared down the dim corridor. Something loomed at the very end of it, a motionless shadow in the bright silver moonlight. Lavi held his breath. Worry flurried in his chest and sank heavily to the bottom of his stomach like a lump of ice. He limped along the corridor, grasping at the wall for support, painfully, infuriatingly slowly. His healthy foot still hurt from the kick, radiating a prickling warmth with every step. His feet scraped against bumps in the wooden floor as he dragged himself closer, and closer, and closer, but still not close enough. When he finally reached the glass-paned balcony door, it felt like hours later. His knees bent under him and Lavi fell to the floor beside the bloodied body.

“Allen?” His voice came out hoarse and quiet. His throat clogged up. He swallowed hard, his tongue dry and getting in the way of his words.

“Allen, can you hear me?”

He touched his arm and shook it lightly, trying not to think about how slack he felt under his hand. He called his name again. Still nothing. Something gripped him tight under the sternum as he reached to Allen’s neck, trying to find his pulse. Faint, unsteady throbs beat under his fingers and Lavi felt like he was about to burst with relief. He looked around. They were just a few steps from the first aid room, but with his injured leg there was no way he could carry Allen in there.

“Wake up, Allen. Please. I need you to wake up.”

He was shaking his arm again, more urgently with every second. The cold breeze blowing through the open door pierced his shirt and stung at his bare feet. He had half a mind to go back to their room and get Krory, however long that would take ( _long, too long_ , his mind countered), when he felt Allen’s arm tense in his grip. The listless body moved ever so slightly and after a moment Allen rolled on his back, his eyes fluttering open.

The first thing he saw was Lavi’s wide, disbelieving smile.

“Lavi?” Allen muttered, his lips barely moving.

“Allen! Are you all right?” A dumb question, but the only one he could pluck out of his racing mind.

Allen took a deep breath, a jolt of pain dashing down his intestines. He clenched his eyes, baring his teeth in a grimace.

“Not sure. It hurts.”

“Can you move?”

“I-- I think so,” Allen carefully propped himself up on his elbow, his head bobbing down drowsily with a vacant stare. He was starting to drift away again.

“Hey,” Lavi seized him by the chin and pulled his face up. “Look at me. Don’t fall asleep. Stay with me, okay?”

“Okay,” Allen blinked, trying to clear his mind and his vision. He managed to sit up, gasping in short, shallow breaths, his back against the balcony door. He felt so heavy and dizzy, and he wouldn’t mind slipping back into the blackness that still lingered at the borders of his consciousness, but Lavi’s voice was ringing steadily in his ears, anchoring him to reality.

“You think you’ll be able to get up yet?” Now that he could take a good look at Allen’s mangled bandages, Lavi was starting to put two and two together and figuring out what happened. They had to clean that wound and dress it as soon as possible. Who knew how long Allen had been lying there.

“I can try,” Allen’s voice was still quiet, but stronger than before. Lavi smiled and stood up slowly, only now realizing how numb his legs went from kneeling on the hard floor. He reached out his hands.

“Here, I’ll help you.”

Allen grabbed onto his arms and hauled himself up, his shaky legs almost immediately giving up on him. He stumbled forward, bumping face-first into Lavi’s chest. Before he could steady himself back again, Lavi took his arm and wrapped it over his neck, gently pulling him to his side, his own arm firmly around Allen’s waist.

“You okay?” He asked, sending him a sideways glance.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“No problem. Now then, let’s get you patched up.”

Lavi walked slowly towards the first aid room, gasping as the added weight vexed his sprained ankle. They made it through the door and Allen let go of him, collapsing onto the low table. Lavi lit up a paraffin lamp he found by the door and started ransacking the shelves in search for everything he needed to take care of the wound. Every now and then he turned around to check in on Allen, but it looked like he had fully come to already, even though he was still feeble from blood loss. Finally, Lavi collected all his odds and ends and came back to Allen, scissors in hand.

“Don’t move,” he warned, slowly slipping one blade between Allen’s skin and the bandages. The scissors snapped and the cut dressing slipped down an inch or two. Lavi unwrapped the remains, tugging delicately at the spots where the blood-soaked fabric clung to the body. He tossed the dirty bandage into the waste bin and started removing the lint. Allen yelped as the plasters sticking the wads in place ripped on his skin.

“I’ll do it myself,” he pushed Lavi’s hand away and went about undoing the plasters. Lavi could see how much he was biting back screams of pain as he twisted his body, his arms raised, trying to reach in spite of his limited range of movements. He wanted to protest, but Allen kept going. He plucked at the plasters with his nails, scratching away dried blood, until finally they came off, revealing the wound.

It looked even worse than Lavi remembered. A jagged mess of torn up flesh, running all along Allen’s side from the armpit down to his hip and spreading over to the shoulder blade and stomach, now covered with a coarse crust of scabs and dried pus, surrounded by light strips of eerily pale clear skin where the plasters held. Here and there the jumble glistened with sickly greenish remains of the antiseptic balm, giving off a bitter, herbal smell that rose even over the metallic odour of blood.

Lavi shook off and forced himself to look up at Allen.

“Stop wriggling already,” he managed, his voice breaking slightly against his better effort, “or it will open up again, all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Allen gave him a forced smile, fiddling with the piece of lint he just pulled off. Lavi sighed and plucked it out of his hand.

“Yeah, if you sit still and let me take it from here,” he added, throwing the used dressings in the bin.

He wet a clean cloth in the sink and started washing the wound, dabbing lightly at the rough, hardened edges and carefully wiping over the deep gash. Allen hissed through his teeth a couple of times, but remained silent as Lavi limped to and fro between the sink and the table, rinsing the cloth and washing the wound until the filth was gone.

“What were you thinking, wandering about like that with a hole through your guts?” Lavi asked, pouring a bit of alcohol on a new piece of cloth.

Allen smiled weakly.

“Look who’s talking. How’s your leg doing?”

“Fine,” Lavi averted his eye for a second and lightly poked Allen in the forehead with his finger. “Don’t change the subject.”

Allen didn’t reply. He kept his head low, eyes fixed on his knees. Lavi put the bottle away and leaned over the wound, his hair brushing against Allen’s cheek. He touched the cloth to the exposed flesh and Allen screamed, a short, guttural cry.

“Crap, I’m sorry!” Lavi’s hand sprang away, his head jerking up, his face suddenly just inches from Allen’s.

“It’s all right,” Allen closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, his breath sweeping over Lavi’s lips. “Just warn me next time.”

Lavi watched his face relax slightly before getting back to disinfecting the wound and applying the antiseptic. He took a dab of the thick ointment and spread it gently, the ripped flesh yielding under his fingers. The smell rushed at his nostrils, and for the briefest of moments Lavi recalled the nights a long time ago, nights much like this one, quiet and washed with blood, when he would sit up surrounded with a number of Bookman’s jars and bottles, treating his own scratches, cuts and bruises earned on the way, trying to forget everything he saw the day before and knowing he must never forget any of it.

_It’s nothing. It will be over soon. It will heal in time. Everything, all these wars, all this pain, it will all sink into the past, like blood into the ground, like ink into paper. Bookmen deal with scars, not with open wounds._

He fished out a fresh wad of lint from the box and spread it along Allen’s side, piece by piece, methodically sticking them in place as he went. Meanwhile, Allen rubbed the damp cloth over his hands and stomach, trying to scrub away the remains of blood. Lavi looked down at his own hands, stained reddish-brown, Allen’s blood caked under his fingernails in black crescents. He stuck on the last piece of lint and tapped Allen on the shoulder.

“Turn around now.”

Allen shifted on the table, twisting his upper body a bit so that Lavi could reach the wound on his back. This one was shallow, but long, starting at the right shoulder and cutting straight across to the small of his back on the left, where it merged with the first one. Lavi washed it, disinfected with alcohol, and started to rub the balm in along the gash.

“You know,” he said quietly, the bitter, bilious odour clinging to his palate, “you don’t have to do everything on your own. I think I’ve told you that some time already.”

“I know,” Allen replied in monotone. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s not just about this, Allen. Don’t play dumb with me.”

Silence. Lavi bit down on his lip, digging through the box of bandages as if he could find the right words there. He unfolded a roll and went on to wrap it around Allen’s midsection to hold the dressing better. His hands circled in a steady rhythm, passing the roll back and forth until it ran out and Lavi found himself clutching at the end, his arms still around Allen, hands clasped on his stomach. Minute vibrations trembled under his fingers as Allen took a deeper breath, but didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, nothing that they hadn’t said already dozens of times, without words, each time they fought back to back, trusting and knowing the other will be there.

_He won’t be there for long if he keeps on going like this_ , Lavi’s mind jabbed. _Why doesn’t he get it?_

“I’m sorry if I made you worry,” Allen’s voice broke the silence, softer than before. “There’s no need to. But I’ll try not to do that again.”

Lavi didn’t answer. His eyes stung from the fumes and lack of sleep. He leaned his head down, pressing his forehead to the nape of Allen’s neck. The pent-up tension finally took its toll and suddenly he felt tired, so very, very tired. He closed his eyes, his arms tightening.

“Lavi? Everything all right?” Allen shifted slightly, surprised by the touch.

“It’s nothing,” Lavi whispered against his skin, pushing back all the memories flooding his mind like blood rushing to his head.

Allen nodded and tilted his head back until it bumped into Lavi’s, looking up to the dark beams of the ceiling. The lamp on the table was running low on fuel, but neither of them moved until it burned out completely, plunging the room in darkness.

“Come on, let’s get back,” Allen shrugged lightly with one arm, prompting Lavi to lift his head. He slipped down from the table, breaking out of the embrace. They left the room and moved up the empty corridor. Lavi held onto the wall, dragging his injured leg behind him.

“Do you need a hand?” Allen asked, noticing how he grimaced with every step.

“A leg would be better,” Lavi said and they both smiled, genuinely and with ease for the first time.

“Hold onto me,” Allen offered and Lavi let go of the wall, leaning on his shoulder instead. They covered the rest of the distance to their room staggering and wobbling like two drunkards, arms around each other, heads bumping together every now and then before they synchronized their steps. Their wounds stung and throbbed and burned, but there was still a way to go, and it just got a bit easier, if only for a little.


End file.
